Page 36 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

As I cross the hallway back to my apartment, my mind replays Sean's reaction on a loop. The flat tone. The abrupt exit. Like something I said struck a nerve, though I can't imagine what.

Well, I don't have time to decipher the mysteries of Sean. I have work to finish before my date. A date that's making my stomach knot with both anticipation and dread.

Chapter 12

SEAN

MANHATTAN NEVER FUCKING SLEEPS, WHICH is great for insomniacs and terrible for anyone who values their sanity. The streets have a relentless energy, even on a weekday evening like this. Yellow cabs cut through traffic like sharks, motorcyclists weave between them with complete disregard for their lives, and pedestrians spill off sidewalks. The city's heartbeat is chaotic and insistent.

I'm fifteen feet behind Londyn, making mental notes of every civilian who passes her. Every lingering look. Every potential threat.

She's a high-value target.

"—and then Noah kicked the ball straight into his team's net," Mike continues from beside me. His voice is a steadybackground to my surveillance. "Mona said the coach's face turned purple. Like, actual purple. But the other team was nice enough to not count the point. Kid sports are much better than adult sports."

"That's cool," I say, my eyes tracking a guy in a business suit who just did a complete one-eighty to watch Londyn walk past. Not a threat. Just another hot-blooded male struck stupid by the view.

Andfuckwhat a view.

When she stepped out of her apartment earlier, I nearly forgot how to breathe. The woman who emerged from that door was nothing like the Londyn I've come to know—the woman who drowns herself in shapeless shirts and hides behind oversized glasses.

This Londyn is… fuck.

Her dress is black and form-fitting, with a neckline that dips into a V just low enough to be elegant rather than provocative. On her, it's devastating, teasing the soft curves of her breasts and threatening to give me a heart attack. Her legs seem impossibly long in those black heels, and her dark hair falls in thick waves around her shoulders. No glasses tonight. Nothing to hide the delicate structure of her face, those slender cheekbones, those eyes that hold entire worlds.

When she looked at me and asked if I was ready to go, I managed to nod like a professional and not like a man who was slowly coming apart at the seams.

Mike gives me a side-eyed look, apparently noticing my distracted state. "You listening, man?"

"Noah. Soccer. Coach turned purple. I'm tracking."

He sighs like I'm his kid who just got suspended from school. "You're tracking something alright."

I ignore the comment because there's a guy up ahead, sitting on a stoop, eyes locked on Londyn as she approaches. My body tenses, ready to close the distance between us if needed, but he pulls out his phone and starts texting as she passes. False alarm. Just another admirer.

That's been the pattern for the six blocks we've walked: man sees Londyn, man stares at Londyn like he's noticing the magnificence of women for the first time, man eventually returns to whatever he was doing. Rinse and repeat.

"This is going to be harder than I thought," I mutter.

"What is?"

"Determining which men are actually suspicious versus just staring."

Mike laughs but the sound quickly cuts off. "Just don't be one of the gawkers."

"Stop already."

"I will when you do."

I grit my teeth. Doesn't he get that I'm fucking trying? I'm trying to turn off my brain andotherparts of me, but I have eyes. Londyn is like the apple in the Garden of Eden; I can't stop thinking about the forbidden fruit.

I ignore Mike and watch Londyn navigate through a crowded section of sidewalk. The evening rush creates a steady stream of commuters heading home from the subway. And we're all swimming in the aroma of garlic from nearby pizza joints, mixed with exhaust fumes and hot concrete. Londyn moves with sophistication, despite her ankles wobbling in those heels. There's a flow to her movements I didn't notice before, like she's performing out here for the world.

Actress,I keep thinking, and I really want to look her up. I also don't. Her past isn't my business. My business is keeping her safe in the present.

"Three more blocks to the restaurant," Mike says, checking his phone.

I nod as another guy stops in his tracks as Londyn passes. This one actually turns completely around. He watches her walk away with such focus that he nearly collides with a fire hydrant. Jesus, can dudes be any more obvious?

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